Wolftongue
by Shhasow
Summary: Numair is forced to cool his heels in Galla, but a certain wildmage still runs with the wolf pack. Their meeting is inevitable.  Pre-WM.
1. Chapter One

**A/N** – Welcome back, dear readers! This is my new little project. It's not yet complete, but it's completely outlined and I have great enthusiasm for it. I hope to post everything before March, depending on my busy schedule. Please bear with me, and know that I will absolutely finish this as soon as I can as well as I can.

The object of this fic was to show character growth of my favorite character, Numair, and have him meet our favorite wildmage a different way than the books. He is a bit more immature than we see, but he'll soon grow to become that person we all know and love. So sit back and enjoy:

**Chapter One** : In Which Numair Receives an Unexpected, Unwanted, (Yet Not Completely Unwarranted) Vacation

* * *

Numair Salmalin liked the practicality of lists. He enjoyed making them, not on paper, but spoken verbally or even just thought. Lists gave an order to a disorganized world, whether by categorizing by alphabet or importance or any unlimited number of categories. He was particularly fond of verbalizing his lists when trying to work out a solution to a particularly thorny problem. Numair knew that this specific proclivity tended to irritate his friends but to him it was worth it. Sure, he might admit to himself when in one of his introspective moods that his capacity for seemingly endless trivia and ancient lore was in part perhaps rooted in vanity. If he was to be completely honest, which did occur at times, it was arrogance, a burning desire for everyone to know and appreciate his brilliance. A throwback to his Carthaki days, likely, one temporarily squelched in his dim, demoralizing, depressing first year in Tortall. Numair did not like to think of those days. They were much better off forgotten.

Making lists was not only a tool to feed his ego. More importantly, it was also a method for remembering the vast amounts of minutiae stored in his brain, as well as a stalling tactic when he needed to appear to have an answer while desperately searching for one. He was surprised that no one had figured that last part out yet, but then again, who actually listened when he trailed off into the annals of history about parallels and possible causes of whatever was actually the problem at hand?

The lists did not even have to be useful. In case anyone cared, or if he could use them as sarcastic retorts, he could swiftly answer any number of inane statements such as, "Where else would you rather be?", "What could be worse than this?", or his favorite, "This has to be the stupidest thing anyone has ever done." To that last he had a ready-made stock of answers that would repudiate his actions entirely, whatever they may be.

At no time, however, did listening to a lecture from the King of Tortall, Jonathon of Conte, make any list that included his own happiness or enjoyment in any fashion.

Nor did the suggestion currently being forced upon him make even the slightest hint of an appearance of any "must do" list. Ever.

No, Numair could say quite vehemently that both the lecture and suggestion were completely unnecessary, unfair, and a waste of his valuable time.

"Travel to Galla? Are you mad, Jon?"

The dark blue eyes of his king seemed to harden. "You do not seem to have any understanding of what has happened the past few days at court. Need I remind you?"

Numair slouched in his chair, avoiding Jon's flinty gaze. "Some conservative is annoyed, what's new there," he said flippantly.

"Some conservative? Great gods, Numair, it was not just some conservative, you know that full well, and you did when you chose to sleep with his wife!"

Numair shrugged. "It's not as if she was his mistress. Everyone knows that the crusty bastard hasn't touched the lady since the birth of his heir years ago."

Jon closed his eyes as if praying to the gods for strength. "So you happened to choose the lonely wife of the most conservative man at court, the one most opposed to any change, the one who has threatened for years to join Tusaine?"

"Dominick of Disart is a coward," said Numair, flipping his hand dismissively. "He's much too afraid of you and the Lioness. And me," he added thoughtfully.

"That's not the point!" Jon's voice went quieter, but gained an added edge. "You do realize that he is demanding your blood, your head? He is calling your actions treason."

Numair scoffed as he lazily inspected his long fingers. "What is he going to do about it? He just does not want to lose face before his lackeys. What is he going to do to me? What _can_ he do to me?"

"Numair!" The word cut through the room and the air around Jon lightly began to glow a dark sapphire. "This is not a request. It is an order from your king, which you must obey."

Numair stopped picking at his nails. "You're not joking, are you Jon?"

"I consider it best that you leave Corus for a month or two-"

"A month? Jon seriously, the Lady Catherine has her coming out ball next week, I have three different magical workings that must be monitored, the fourth planet is aligning with the second and the sixth in a fortnight, and I _hate_ camping!"

As Numair demonstrated his extensive list-making capabilities once more, Jon felt his good humor slightly restored, though his resolve was not weakened. He wondered idly which complaint held the greatest sway. Numair was infamous at court for being a charmer of all beautiful ladies as well as being deeply absorbed in the exploration and experimentation of his craft. He was also known to be fond of his creature comforts when he could be dragged away from the perusal of his interests.

Not giving Numair a chance to finish, if he ever would, Jon cut in, "Nevertheless, you will go with Onua to the Great Fair in Galla."

"But what am I to do in godsforsaken Galla?" he cried.

Jon resisted the urge to throttle the other mage, his temper rapidly rising again with Numair's level of petulance. "You will figure that out, Numair. Bring a few arcane tomes from the Library to pass the time, I don't care. Just go."

Numair, sensing the battle lost, raised his lanky frame from the chair with exaggerated movements, leaving on his own terms. He paused when the king spoke again.

"Numair," Jon said, voice kinder yet with a hard edge that forbid defiance. "Do not take your anger out at Onua. She is your friend, as am I."

The tall mage gathered the shredded pieces of his dignity like a worn cloak as he departed the room, only pausing briefly at the doorway to say blandly, "As you say, your Majesty."

* * *

Onua Chamtong breathed in the brisk air, still cold in late winter, and stretched out her entire body as if it refilled her soul with peace. As much as she liked Corus and enjoyed spending time with her friends, Onua always felt rejuvenated at the beginning of a journey. It was as if all of the frivolous cares and worries she picked up in the city were stripped aside. A journey was another chance for starting new, starting over. There was only her, the road, and her Tahoi, currently scampering ahead, enjoying the forest and sniffing out rabbits.

They were going to Cria to the Great Fair to buy hardy mountain ponies for the Queen's Riders. It was a task she undertook every year, though it had recently become more dangerous, and there was talk amongst traders of monsters. Usually Tahoi was enough, and once she bought the ponies they were nearly as good as guard dogs, but she still slept with her crossbow at easy reach even though she warded the campsite at night. There was always a greater mage out there.

The presence of her good friend should have increased her anticipated enjoyment as much as it reassured her of their safety, but he also made their journey more complicated.

Fortunately, her friend was Numair.

Unfortunately, her friend was Numair.

The lanky black mage was a study in contradictions at the best of times. He was a terrible rider with a seat painful to behold, but he was kind to his longsuffering mount, Spots. He was confident sometimes to the point of arrogance, but he was never intentionally mean or cruel. In fact, he was one of the kindest and gentlest people she had ever met, certainly of all her mage companions. One certainly couldn't call the Lioness gentle!

Numair was fickle in his romantic conquests and so vain that it took him longer to get ready for court appearances than most delicate court flowers, but he was steadfast and loyal to his friends, to those who placed their trust in his immeasurably capable hands. Besides, due to his cheerful absent-mindedness and thirst for knowledge, he wouldn't think twice about sitting in wet grass to watch a meteor shower in his court best, even during a ball.

Yet he did have cause for arrogance. One of the most powerful mages in the world, one of only seven black mages, his gift was staggering to imagine. Even after years of friendship and witnessing him use his gift, Onua still could not completely comprehend his strength. Alanna had once told her that even she, blessed by the Goddess, would not dare to face Numair in a mage's duel. His powerful Gift had frightened many people away; only his suave and charismatic nature was enough to convince the shallow court ladies to forget his magical capabilities, not that he ever attempted to show off his Gift in front of them. It was not so easy to ignore evidence in front of your eyes as it was to push well-known accounts of his feats to the back of your mind.

It was his capability for court scandal combined with his absent-mindedness that provided the reason for his sulky appearance on the road this early. While not the happiest traveler, Numair usually put on an air of forced cheeriness, for he truly was most content locked away in his workshops experimenting or searching for knowledge all sane people had long forgotten. Travelling was dirty and tiring, not to mention inconvenient. It was time much better spent reading. Onua wondered if his particular dislike stemmed from his first year in Tortall spent hiding in slums, always on the move, always hungry and exhausted, sleeping with both eyes open for both thieves and Ozorne's men. Whatever the cause, Numair was generally considerate enough of others to pretend ambivalence at the least. That he did not attempt to hide his petulance was an obvious sign to Onua that her friend was upset and angry.

Not that she needed to read his body language. The whole court knew that Numair had been sent from Corus in disgrace, and why.

"Horse Lords, Numair, am I that bad a companion?" she quipped quietly, breaking the silence in the brisk morning air.

Numair came back to himself and stirred, blinking slightly. He sighed. "Of course not, Onua, I am sorry for inflicting myself on you in such a state. I'm not fit company for any friend at the present, thanks to someone whom shall remain nameless."

Onua honestly tried, but she could not contain the words that tripped from her traitorous lips. "Just what _were_ you thinking?"

He groaned. "Not you too."

In for a copper, in for a noble. "Did you do it to prove something? All you did was give Jon a massive headache and opposition at court when he's trying to push that tax reform through the nobles."

He grinned wolfishly, all shiny teeth. "Well, that's not entirely accurate."

"Numair!"

"Onua!" he mocked lightly as he spurred Spots on, the effect slightly ruined by his ungainly seat as he bounced uncomfortably on his saddle.

Undeterred, she clicked to her pony and easily caught up with him. "So why did you do it?" she asked, exasperation coloring her voice. "Didn't you know about the reform? Jon has been trying to get it passed for at least a decade and he is so close; he just barely convinced Dominick of Disart to back down on the recent housing law, Disart is still upset about that. Something about the commoners getting airs-"

Numair, swiftly vacillating from humored to irritated, snapped. "Yes, pity poor Jon. It's so difficult to be him. What do I know; I'm just one of his pet mages on his leash-"

"Numair! You know that's not true, he does his best and really does care. You know that."

The mage visibly tried to calm himself. He took a deep sigh and mumbled, "I know."

He looked away, so Onua pressed. "You know I am your friend, Numair, but sometimes I don't understand you one bit."

"No one does."

"Who can when you're the smartest man at court and one of the strongest mages in the world and you play with empty-headed vapid ladies. How can we understand?"

Refusing to respond and scowling darkly, he dug his heels into Spots' flank and increased the pace further, forcing her to catch up, both of them more unsettled than when the conversation began.

Later that night after they set up camp, Numair stared into the low fire, bowl of soup forgotten in his long fingers. He dimly noted Onua settling down next to him with her own supper and a firm, "No, Tahoi" to the begging dog. Tahoi woofed softly; Numair absently fished out a bit of meat and tossed it to the eyes reflecting in the firelight.

"I am trying to break him of that habit," Onua said lightly as she snapped her fingers at her dog, surprised when the normally well-behaved animal chose instead to sit at her companion's knee. Numair let a hand drift over to him, resting it gently on his head, lightly scratching between his eyes and behind his ears.

The trio sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the muted cricket's chirping behind the protective wards, the harsh crackling and popping of the small fire, the sigh of the wind as it wove its way through the treetops above them.

Onua had nearly sunk into a meditative state, lulled by the repetitive noises, when her friend's voice rippled through the air.

"You are mistaken," he brooded as he stroked the soft fur. Onua bristled at the words, thinking he was opening another argument, but the tone was not challenging, more defeated. "Mistaken about some things," he corrected himself. "It was not to prove anything, Lady Nessah, I mean. I didn't mean anything by it; I did not even think of the consequences, but then Jon started attacking me and I could not help but provoke him, so I pushed him, I admit it." His fingers slid down Tahoi's neck to scratch his ruff. "You don't seem very surprised," he noted dryly.

Onua nodded ruefully. "I heard something about what passed between the two of you. That nonchalant act of yours gets under his skin, and he had to make an example of you."

Numair sighed. "I know, and perhaps that is why I did it. I have just been so," he struggled with the next word, "_bored_."

She raised an eyebrow at her friend. "So the answer to boredom is to cause a court scandal and rile up the king?"

"Apparently."

They both chuckled lightly, the mood changing to something resembling contentedness or at least companionship. Numair fed the rest of his food to the dog that begged politely as Onua banked the fire for the night. They unrolled their bedrolls near the fire for the warmth, though the horse mistress knew that she would have a companion who insisted on guarding her, especially when out of Corus. She could not begrudge the dog; Tahoi was with her years ago when… but she disliked bringing up the old memories. There was no point in dwelling on the past when one could live for the future.

Nearly asleep, Onua was startled by Numair breaking the silence between them for the second time that night. "What?" she muttered, rousing herself from the Dream God's clutches.

"Do you think she is out there?" he repeated.

"Who are you talking about?" she yawned, valiantly attempting to sound awake and alert.

"The other side of me."

"Numair?" she rolled over to face him, his sharp face illuminated by the low light as he stared into the starry sky obscured only by trees. Suddenly, she did not have to fight sleep.

"Everyone else seems to have found their other half, their purpose," he continued, barely hearing her. "What do I have? Some experiments, research, stolen nights with women chosen for their bosoms and ability to forget to be afraid of me." He glanced over to her, eyes suspiciously wet and glinting off the light. "I am so tired of frightening people with who I am, with what I am unable to help. Even my friends back off, even you at times."

"Numair, I-" Onua started, feeling exceedingly guilty.

He shook his head lightly, looking back at the stars. The fifth planet from the sun was unusually bright tonight. "No, do not apologize. I do understand, and it doesn't bother me most of the time. I have scared people all of my life, even my family. Especially my family."

He went silent for a few minutes. Onua did not know what to say. She could not rightly deny it; sometimes her tall friend did frighten her with his big showy magic, and she did not know what to say to ease his suffering. Did he always feel this way? Was that why he tried to distract himself with studies and boring, brainless women?

"She does not have to be a woman," he continued as if he had never digressed, "just my other half, someone who understands me, someone who is not afraid. Perhaps it would be better that it not be a woman." He paused, then continued thoughtfully. "Yes, a man, definitely. I am not even sure I could have a normal relationship with a woman any more, not after… before, and not after what I have done here in Tortall. It would be better that it not even be a question, not a possibility, be only for friendship, camaraderie. I do realize that I am talking to you, Onua; I do know what happened to you."

Onua felt cold fingers run over her body, and she clutched Tahoi closer, ignoring his low grumblings as he stretched and drifted back to sleep.

"I know about your husband, and I know what you escaped, what you left behind. That alone takes a lot of courage, and then you managed to become horse mistress to the Queen's Riders. You have your purpose, your task that only you can fulfill. What do I have?" he closed his eyes and shook his head again. "I am an exhibition piece, brought out when useful, shoved back when done. I cannot do anything _useful_. Did you know, I cannot heal? I cannot even light a candle or snuff it with my Gift, it is big works or nothing, and so it's almost always nothing. Or at least, nothing of importance," he said bitterly.

"Be fair to yourself," Ouna said softly. "You are very useful, Numair, and not just to help set up the Royal University, or to teach, or to experiment. You are useful because you are our friend, and we do not care about your Gift."

He sighed, and she pretended not to notice the glistening track pooling at the corner of his eye and running down towards the ground. It didn't seem right that her friend should suffer attacks of depression, of insecurity. Not Numair, the confident mage who always supplied the answer, who had enough power at his fingertips to flatten the Palace, not her quiet friend who teased her lightly about "those vicious ponies" she loved so much, who made it a point to drop by when they were both in Corus, at least when he wasn't absorbed in some magical minutia. She wished there was something she could do.

"I just feel there is a gaping hole, a void, something missing, something I must accomplish."

"You want a defined purpose, a path to follow."

"Yes."

"I believe you will find him or her, Numair, though probably not where you have been looking. I don't think she is hiding in the court, at least not around those you generally meet."

"Now, don't underestimate Lady What's-Her-Name, she had a particularly fine grasp on Izard's Fourth Principle of Magikal Transmogrification," he said innocently.

They shared a quiet laugh in the dark, though his bore an edge, a bit of a gasp, a desperate laugh of a desperate man willing himself to vestiges of normality. But Numair's words were sincere.

"Thank you. You are a true friend."

"You will find him. Maybe he isn't a person, maybe he's an animal, like Tahoi."

His eyes glanced over at the sleeping dog, loyal and steadfast to his mistress. "I could and have done much worse."

They lay in companionable silence only broke by Tahoi's snores and the quiet snuffling of the horses. Onua felt that she had been granted a rare view into his character, one seen by very few people. She felt honored, in a way, that she should know this extraordinary, larger-than-life man, honored that she could call herself his friend.

* * *

By the time they arrived in Cria, Numair was his old self. They never spoke about that night though it remained between them, not as a barrier but as a tangible understanding; there was no need to discuss what was intimately known.

Onua led them to the inn she always frequented when at the Fair. Numair took one look at the small room and discreetly wrinkled his nose. It was much more cramped than he preferred, but at least he and Onua did not have to share. He eyed the small bed unhappily; there was no possible way his tall frame could fit. All things considered, he'd rather sleep outside in a bedroll, not that he would ever admit that to, well, anyone.

Nor could he feasibly spend his days in Galla in the confined quarters. Numair carefully placed his bag of books and necessities on the small chest of drawers and turned to Onua with a raised eyebrow. "I assume I am to assist you?"

To her credit, Onua held back a laugh. Her old friend couldn't fool her; she could almost read his thoughts, but she nodded with just a hint of amusement and led the way down to her normal field.

There was not much to do the first day, not until Onua bargained for her first small string of ponies, but Numair stood around awkwardly watching the proceedings and being subjected to, "Well, aren't you a lanky fella," by far too many knowing winks and glances of the Cria townswomen.

Try as he might, Numair was simply useless, even after they acquired some ponies. He knew how to take proper care of horses, but these were mountain ponies with a penchant for stepping on large feet and nipping dangerously close to delicate fingers. Flustered, he could only stand helplessly as they herded him around the corral until Onua took pity and sent Tahoi to retrieve him.

By the third day, his clothes soaked in pony saliva and stained by Gods-knew-what, Numair was relieved when Onua gently rebuffed his offer of help. At loose ends, he remembered the arcane tomes he had lugged from his workrooms in Corus, and Numair decided to find some suitable location to read them.

His room out of the question, he claimed a spot in the corner of the dusty tavern room near a window large enough to let in light to read by easily. Numair, absorbed deeply, let the conversation rise and fall around him, labor-roughened voices rumbling indistinctly about trading and the Great Fair. It wasn't until the sun began to fall and make reading difficult that the mage blinked from his daze and registered the grumbling of his stomach.

Numair caught the attention of a serving wench and smiled, grinning broader when she blushed and sauntered over to him. The busty woman took his order for stew and lingered with a saucy wink, "if there's anything else I can do for you…" as she trailed a finger up his arm. Numair demurred politely, but gave her an extra coin for a healthy tip. It wouldn't do to offend the source of his meals.

As he munched his way through the thick meaty stew, Numair let his attention wander to the myriad of voices filling the large room. He hadn't realized they were so loud, not when his attention was so focused on his fascinating book about the magical practices of ancient cult built around a rather promiscuous and proliferate dragon, but he was much too fastidious to eat around his precious books.

Numair's mind was free to listen to the coarse speech that blundered around him. Most of it was pointless, but his ears perked at a few unusual tidbits, the most interesting of which talked about unusually aggressive wolves to the north.

"I tell ya," one yelled to his close companion as he swung his full mug in the air, "I 'eard it from a trader, who got it from a fella in Snowsdale, says the wolves is runnin' wild." At the hearty jeers from his audiences, he waved his hands, spilling some noxious substance from the mug. "I mean, they're smart, not like normal wolves, they avoid traps, lay false trails." The other people rolled their eyes and shouted him down, but he had saved the best for last. "A_ girl_ and a _horse _run with 'em!"

They gave cries of disbelief, but the man held his ground stubbornly, repeating, "I tell ya, I tell ya!"

Numair rolled his eyes. What utter rot and drivel people said when drunk.

"He's right!" added a trader from across the room. "I saw them myself when I was riding down from the mountains – it was a large pack and there was a girl right in the middle of them on all fours, and a pony trailing behind."

He decried the accusations that he was "razzled off his horse," instead claiming full sobriety and possession of his senses.

Numair tucked away the book into a pocket and finished his meal, patiently waiting for the raucous crowd to latch onto some other bit of outrageous news. Once the talk turned to a green-skinned woman appearing above some well, he discreetly arose from his seat to join the trader, greeting him quietly.

The trader eyed him suspiciously. Numair's clothes, though sturdy enough for work, were of an obviously better cut and quality than the average workman, not that the mage could ever be taken as a layman. "Come to jeer at me too?"

Numair smiled a bit. "Not at all, my good man. I simply find myself curious about your sighting. It would be rather prudent of you to tell me more." Without moving an inch, Numair seemed to loom over the man, his smile somehow glinting and his eyes strangely persuasive. "I do love a good story."

The trader found words slipping from his mouth without conscious control. "It's true, every word of it. I was riding down from Stoneglen, that's just east of Snowsdale, and I saw a flash of gray to my right so I looked and saw a mess of wolves staring right at me with a half-naked girl in torn clothes there snarling with the rest of them, and there was a gray horse too, one that looked real scared. I got out of there as fast as I could, didn't stop until I got to the next town."

Although Numair had no Gift to detect lies, ever since his year on the streets, he had learnt how to spot a liar nonmagically. This man was telling the truth, at least the truth how he saw it.

Well, that was certainly fascinating.

Numair thanked the pale man, flipped him a coin for another drink of muck, and retired to his room and the small cramped bed. He ruminated on the story; how could a person, much less a girl, run with and act as a wolf, and where did the horse fit in? There were two options, he decided: either the man really was drunk, though alcohol didn't generally cause hallucinations and certainly not such clear ones, or there existed a pack of wolves that included two non-wolves.

That was undoubtedly worth a closer examination, if nothing else to alleviate the boredom that would quickly ensue if Numair had to spend the next month in that dirty room with nothing but an expensive and valuable tome, or trapped with that vicious mob of animals Onua called ponies.

Numair decided, as he drifted slowly off to sleep, curled up on his side to fit inside the narrow frame, that tomorrow morning he would stretch his wings, so to say.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two:** In Which Numair Exerts Himself and Makes an Interesting Discovery

* * *

Tomorrow morning came and Numair squinted at the pale sky in the bright sun. He stood leaning out of his room, having forced open the small dirty window. The weather looked perfect for a day of flying, and Numair swiftly divested himself of his clothes and folded them carefully on his bed. Glad he had eaten a filling ration bar (he didn't much trust the proffered breakfast downstairs), Numair concentrated and mentally smirked in satisfaction as his body quickly shrunk and sprouted black feathers. Few mages in the world could summon the requisite power to enable shape-shifting, and fewer of those were trained, and fewer still even alive anymore.

The large black hawk shook itself and hopped onto the windowsill, and then judged the winds and currents floating around the small building. When favorable, he spread his wings and launched into the air, quickly catching a gust of wind that spiraled him upwards into the sky.

Once airborne and settled, Numair oriented himself, for it was much too easy to lose his bearings when looking at the land from a different perspective. Cria was nestled between a great lake and a mountainous double peak, and if he could follow the road north, the mountain initially on his left, he would eventually hit the northern settlements.

At first, Numair struggled to fly with ease; he was simply out of practice as there was little call to shape-shift in Corus, but after a few hours his new body seemed to remember the process. He lazily rode the thermals, drifting from one to another, until he eventually reached a village that, from his earlier perusal of a map, was directly south of Snowsdale.

The mage-turned-hawk glanced at the sun and decided he could only afford to search for a bell before he would have to head back to Cria before dark. He would need to eat heartily as both flying and shape-shifting required a lot of energy, and his human brain was admittedly quite squeamish about lunching on normal hawk fare even if his hawk side tried to convince him of the tastiness of a nice mouse or groundhog.

Back to the task at hand, he told himself sternly. He could not justify wasting his time, and from the two stories Numair had overheard in the inn, the pack – if it existed – prowled Snowsdale and south of the village. They might be beneath him at this moment.

Numair swooped down a bit, closer to the road, but the thick trees covered most of his view. Frustrated, he made low spirals along the road, peeking to the sides to see beneath the sparse foliage, but to no avail, and after a solid bell of searching, he climbed the thermals again to make the long flight back to Cria.

When he finally arrived back to the inn and flew through the open window, he was bone-tired and starving. Numair quickly changed back into his clothes and began to head downstairs for a meal, only to encounter a distinctly-peeved Onua just outside his door.

"Hello there," he muttered, trying to dance out of her way and towards food.

"Numair, where have you been?"

His stomach grumbled fiercely. "If you're going to yell at me, can you at least do it while I eat?" he said plaintively. Numair didn't wait for her agreement, or disagreement, but skirted around Onua and hurtled down the stairs. By the time she arrived, he was already sitting down in his corner with the same busty serving woman eyeing him with nearly as much pleasure as he eyed the indiscriminate meat and potatoes.

"Where were you today?" Onua demanded, sitting across from him with a scowl.

He shrugged, mouth full, and garbled out a quick, "flying."

Her scowl darkened. "I was looking for you earlier, Numair."

"You needed my help?"

"Don't delude yourself," she assured. "I wanted to offer you some lunch that wasn't inn food, though I see you're having no problems eating, or may I suggest inhaling, it now."

Numair grinned as he shoved away the plate, patting his full stomach. "I went exploring," he said, "to the north. I heard some interesting rumors and I wanted to see if they were accurate." At Onua's unimpressed and inquiring gaze, he elaborated. "Rumors about a girl running with an unusually smart pack of wolves. And a horse," he added. "If true, it sounds almost like wild magic run amok."

Onua's gaze softened. "Poor girl. Did you find her?"

"Not yet; the flight there took longer than expected, but next time I'll know how to get there faster."

"How long are you planning on looking for this girl?" she asked before waving for a mug of ale.

Numair looked at her with revulsion. "Are you really going to drink that?"

"Apparently." She sipped the drink and Numair shuddered. "Are you going to answer my question?"

He made a face. "I'll look until it becomes less boring than staying in the inn all day and less dangerous than being a target for your little monsters."

"They really don't like you, do they?" she said nonchalantly. Numair looked at her drinking the swill and grimaced. "Oh stop it, you Player." He gave her an innocent look and Onua rolled her eyes, throwing back the last of the drink and tossing a coin on the table. "Just let me know next time so I don't get concerned if you've disappeared."

"Worried, were you?" he drawled, slouching insolently in his chair.

"I worry for everyone when you're bored. You have a tendency to get into messes." Onua chuckled and left the affronted Numair alone at the table, shaking a fist at her retreating back.

* * *

Over the next few days, Numair shape-shifted and searched the area around Snowsdale for any trace of a wolf pack, containing a girl or no. He did see traces of their existence, a deer carcass here and there, but no visual confirmation, and the mage was beginning to get impatient and tired. Spending so long in another form drained his Gift, slowly but steadily.

Finally, one rainy day, just as he decided to give up and spend the following day with a book to let himself recover, Numair spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. He quickly wheeled around towards it and peered through gaps in the trees. The elation and relief he felt at seeing flashes of grey fur unnerved him, and as he flew alongside them, he finally spotted what he had been waiting to see for days.

A young girl with long matted brown hair that made Numair wince in sympathy and wearing dirty torn clothes loped uncomfortably on all fours in the middle of the pack, followed by a very uneasy-looking grey pony. How a horse could look uneasy was beyond Numair, yet the horse accomplished it. As he watched, the pack stopped at a river to drink, and to his amazement, the pony nipped at the girl's elbows. The human snapped and snarled, but eventually rose to stand on two legs.

Numair was quite surprised to see that she really was merely a girl, no more than fourteen at most. He mentally prodded his Gift to see magic and nearly fell out of the air in shock.

Wild magic, indeed!

Copper tendrils spilled out of the girl every which way, connecting her to every speck of animal life in the area, intertwined and tangled so that he couldn't even make out her form under the chaos.

The girl wasn't mad, at least not in the common way; her wild magic had overtaken her, lost her in the minds of the surrounding animals until she believed, no, until she was one of them. There was a particularly strong thread of copper magic to the pony, a thick one that vibrated and writhed, and a smaller though substantial thread to one of the wolves, the one with a broken tooth.

_Fascinating._

Numair watched the pack for the next few hours until he was forced to return to Cria, but he marked the general location so that he could arrive on foot, or at least horseback. He had no temptation to confront the girl now, neither as a hawk nor as a naked man; the very idea was ludicrous.

No, what he really needed was an extended trip from Cria, in a bedroll that didn't constrict him at night, with a nice warm fire to warm him, and away from rough brutes and ill-made inn food. The more he thought about it, the more delightful it seemed, until he decided to set out the very next day, regardless of his state of exhaustion. His Gift could recharge on the road. He paused only to buy supplies for two for at least a week. Distance was difficult to measure from the air, but he gauged it as less than three days' journey.

By the time he arrived back in Cria, the whole idea seemed a rather nice vacation.

After a quick change, Numair strode towards Onua's corral, and as soon as he drew near to his friend, he crowed triumphantly. "I found her!"

Onua looked up from the string of ponies crowded around her. She shooed them away gently and made her careful way across the field to the fence where her lanky friend could barely suppress his excitement. "Your mystery wolves?"

A broad grin split Numair's face as his eyes danced. "Not only the wolves, but also the girl and the pony. I spotted them near the road south of Snowsdale." He gestured in the general direction. "The girl, she's young, much more than I expected, but she's simply overflowing with wild magic."

"Specific to wolves?" Onua asked, thinking of her own slight affinity to wild magic to horses.

He shook his head. "I examined it from the air, and it seemed much more general, maybe even to all types of animals. Can you imagine it, Onua?" he crowed, "Someone with the capability to speak to every animal, to learn from them, to heal them; the possibilities are simply endless!"

Onua couldn't suppress her grin at her friend's exuberance, but had to deflate him a bit. "So what are you going to do? She's running with the wolves; is she mad?"

"No, at least, I don't think so," he said thoughtfully. "I surmise that she is merely caught in the thrall of her magic, unable to separate her being from theirs. If I can get her to recognize her humanity, she should be snapped back to herself and I can train her."

"This is a bit more than a small project while you're whiling your days away in Cria," Onua pointed out. "If you can find her, remind her, and offer to train her, this could take years, Numair. Are you prepared for that?"

Numair stopped suddenly, his excited thoughts and purposeful actions of the past week catching up to him in a flash. He took a minute to think of the consequences. Did he really want to take on a student, one that might require years of interactions? If he started, he could not in good conscience stop until she was advanced enough to be of no danger to herself or others. No one had ever seen, or at least documented, a person with her potential in wild magic. Mithros, so few people even believed of its existence, and most of those only because he convinced them.

Did he want to take on this tremendous responsibility? This girl, whoever she was, was no Onua requiring a few lessons in meditation, or even Stefan, who had enough magic to necessitate Numair training him for almost a year before he could realize his full potential. No, she had more wild magic than anyone he had ever seen, heard of, or read about, and it would require Numair to devote a large portion of his future time and freedom towards her.

He pondered, his mind making swift mental lists of pros and cons, but he came to the same conclusion every time.

Numair had moaned to Onua about his lack of purpose, his feeling cut adrift and lost, meaningless, so how could he falter now, just as a real, important, tangible undertaking dropped in his lap? If this girl was lost and trapped in her mind and he had the ability and wherewithal to set her free, how could he deny the task? He always did enjoy taking on students, especially if they were willing and eager to learn.

Well, he couldn't know that from watching her with hawk eyes. Numair knew he would have to somehow get the girl away from the pack of wolves and reintroduce her to her own humanity. In the end, it might be worth it, but it also could be an enormous headache and he might regret his actions deeply in the days to come.

Numair looked up from his inner turmoil, the animated glint in his eyes replaced by an intense stare, and told Onua solemnly, "I am quite prepared."

* * *

That was how he found himself the next day, and the day after that, riding awkwardly on the road to the north. A half day by flight would be at least two by easy riding, and Numair was no horseman. Regardless, as much as he detested the bumpy and potted road and ground that made it impossible to sleep well at night, he told himself it was better than the inn. At least these were _honest_ insects crawling on him at night, and he was even safer as he could throw up an impenetrable and invisible ward over his campsite that would make any would-be robbers immediately think better of their lives of crime and violence.

Still…

"I ought to charge you rent," Numair said grumpily to the ants he flicked off his bedrolls the morning after the second long day of riding. He forced himself out of the warm blankets, helped along by the presence of the bugs and the hard rock that managed to stick him in the back no matter where he moved, and ate a quick breakfast of a ration bar. He groaned theatrically to no one but the trees, the insects, and Spots, as he wearily mounted the gelding.

Numair reached the small town south of Snowsdale around midday. Not any more trusting of food here than in Cria, he merely took the opportunity for a rest, stretching out his long limbs as he munched on his brought lunch and decided his next course of action.

The girl and wolves were very likely to the north, but it would be nearly impossible to find her atop Spots along the road, nor were they likely to hang around the small village.

Numair tied Spots to a tree just outside the town with enough lead rope that the horse could reach some patches of grass, and the mage stripped again, carefully folding his clothes to prevent wrinkles. Stretching one last time, feeling bubbles of excitement rising to his head, he shape-shifted into a large black hawk.

Clacking his beak irritably at having to start his flight from the ground, Numair flapped laboriously and rose slowly in the air, finally catching a thermal. He soared and, after a few awkward minutes, remembered how to fly efficiently. He was never a natural flyer; he inhabited a hawk's body and never gave into its instincts. The first time he had successfully shape-shifted, the mage had let the hawk's brain take over details, including flight. Unfortunately, that meant that he had been unable to stop when his sharp eyes spotted dinner in the rustling grass below. Never again.

Numair searched the area in a grid pattern, swooping low and gliding high to see in between all of the vision-obscuring trees. He traveled to Snowsdale and back again, scouring the land with a hawk's excellent vision, but to no avail.

Glancing in annoyance at the setting sun – he had hoped with unrelenting optimism that he could find the girl and be headed back in one day – Numair turned on a wing to follow the road back to Spots, mentally grumbling that he'd have to choose between sleeping in an inn or outside again. Neither choice was palatable to him, and he cursed Jon for forcing him to a godsforsaken country with no concept of proper cleanliness or decent-sized beds.

A flash of movement caught his eye and Numair swiftly drew closer, his hawk heart dropping in his chest.

He found the wolves. They were headed directly for Spots.

Desperately, Numair flew as quickly as possible to head them off. If only he could get there before the pack… if not, his trusty and sturdy mount had no chance, being tied firmly to a tree.

Oh, why hadn't he placed a ward on Spots?

Not for the first time, Numair deeply regretted his absent-mindedness and prayed that it would not cost him his horse as he raced the running pack.

Luckily for him and Spots, the pack had to compensate for the young girl, not as adept on four legs as they, for if she ran on two they might have reached Spots first, and if she had not been there at all, they would have already killed the gelding.

As it was, Numair barely got there in time; he had just enough seconds to pull on his breeches hastily before he spied glowing yellow eyes in the dim underbrush. He tried to soothe Spots, but the poor gelding was having none of it, and he couldn't let the horse run back to the village as the wolves would run him down.

As the wolves slowly and purposefully broke cover –he spotted the dirty, crazed girl with them – Numair spoke a word and gestured in a circle, a colorless ward flecked with black and silver sprang up between the wolves and himself and Spots.

He took a moment to contemplate the girl. She looked as young as his earlier estimate, long brown hair matted with mud and twigs, and she was clothed in the remnants of what used to be a sturdy and serviceable tunic. There was a wild and confused look in her eyes as she studied him just as closely.

Trying to decide his next move, as this had most decidedly not been in his carefully thought-out plan, Numair spotted the grey pony as it hung at the rear. The poor thing looked worn, hungry, and terrified.

"Don't worry," he called out nonsensically to the pony, as if it could understand him. "I'll get your girl back to civilization. You're free to come if you wish, as soon as I get her away from your furry companions.

"Now, what to do with you, my little wild mage?" Numair said to himself as he watched the girl balance on the balls of her feet and the palms of her hands. He frowned as he realized she seemed to be communicating in growls to the one large wolf with a broken fang. Another large wolf nudged her aside roughly, snarling, and the smallest whimpered slightly, backing away and hunching close to the ground.

This was almost worth the trip by itself, just to watch the dynamics of pack behavior, Numair mused. But, it wasn't the purpose for the journey. He glanced around him to confirm his suspicion; they surrounded him. To get away, he would have to scare away the wolves, but Numair was very reluctant to do that with the girl so close, not to mention that it might traumatize her and cause her to withdraw further.

A streak of black flared; Numair turned on his heel to his side to see a wolf shaking his head, pawing at it softly and whimpering.

"I wouldn't have done that," Numair said matter-of-factly to the animal. "You're not capable of breaking through this ward, not if you batter it for the next month."

It seemed the wolf with a broken fang agreed, for he snarled at the impetuous leaper, and the latter hunched away, his body close to the ground as he displayed his vulnerable neck.

Numair turned back and his skin jumped. The girl crouched as closely to the invisible barrier as possible, staring at him, meeting his eyes. "Hello there," he said calmly. "Are you still a wolf, or are you a person now?"

She narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth in a wolfish threat.

"That answers that." Numair scratched his chin, absently noting that he required a close shave. Perhaps talking to her would remind her that she was a human? "I want to take you to Cria," he continued slowly, looking into her wide confused eyes. "I have a very good friend there, her name is Onua, and she would love to meet you, especially if you're as good with horses are you are with wolves."

The girl didn't move a muscle, but stayed in her position, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Numair frowned when he noticed the girl shivering slightly in the crisp wind, her ragged clothes inadequate for the chilly mountain climate; winter; her skin twitched and jumped though her face remained emotionless. With a bit of effort and a whisper-like thought, he heated the air immediately surrounding her, creating a veritable cloak of warmth.

Her eyes widened in surprise as her hands clutched her suddenly-warm flesh. Numair spoke quietly to her and she watched him intently, growing curiosity and suspicion in her eyes.

"Yes, that was me. I used my Gift to feed energy to the air, and I urged it to vibrate back and forth quite rapidly, which causes the air particles – for air is made up of many individual constituents that some can view using careful applications of the Gift – to give off heat, which you feel." Numair knew that she would not understand innovative magical theory. He was the one of the very few who even cared about it, much less could follow a conversation, but he hoped that by hearing a nonthreatening human voice, the wild child would be more amenable to leaving the wolves.

It didn't seem to be working, though she seemed to be more confused than suspicious, as if trying to remember something long since forgotten, hidden in the recesses of her mind. She slowly lowered her arms from around her body, as if accepting the strange warmth, but made no further movements.

Numair didn't know what to do, and that was a rare incident indeed.

"Girl, whoever you are, you are not a wolf. You are a person, a human. I can help you remember, since you cannot," Numair said pleadingly. None of this was going as it should; why did people and animals insist on making things harder than they had to be?

He heard the horse snicker and snapped at it. "If you're so clever, why don't you do something about it?"

To his surprise, he heard a loud sigh from the pony as the mare sidled closer, eyeing the wolves cautiously, but clearly headed towards the girl, who growled at the wolves when they snapped at the pony's flanks. The carnivorous beasts backed off, and the horse nudged the girl firmly and deliberately.

She responded - were those neighs and horse whickers? Numair didn't even know the human voice could reproduce them so accurately and that opened up a world of potential possibilities – but the pony ignored her and nipped at the girl's elbows.

Numair winced in sympathy. He had received more than enough bites from temperamental horses to know how hard they could bite, and he could see the scars on her elbows and the faint tinge of blood on the horse's teeth. Alarmed, he almost started forward just when the nipping stopped and the girl slowly stood up on two legs, a very human-seeming look of disgruntled annoyance plastered on her face.

"Hello there," he called softly, hopefully. The madness in her eyes was lifted slightly, more humanity and less confusion residing inside. "Do you know who you are now?"

Numair held out a large hand towards her, stepping close to the edge of the barrier until they were close enough to stretch out an arm and touch if the barrier were gone. The wolves backed away from him, but she stood her ground, eyeing him suspiciously.

Silently, he begged her to meet him, to take the step forward, to take his hand so that they could leave the forest and the maddeningly human-like wolves to transform her from a wolf-like human.

Slowly, hesitantly, and with much distrust, the girl inched forward, extending her hand in preparation to take his. Relieved, Numair let the barrier fall with a thought.

A sudden snarl surprised both of them just as their hands were about to clasp.

That was all the warning Numair received before the large wolf leapt at him, razor teeth aiming for his throat.

Without a thought, assisted only by instincts honed into him in recent years, Numair flicked his hand towards the deadly attacker. Caught in mid-air by a massive wave of magical force, the wolf flew backwards and hit a nearby tree. He lay on the ground, unmoving.

Numair, determined not to feel guilt over his self-defense, quickly stepped back and rewove the barrier in case any of the other wolves decided to take their revenge.

The girl ignored him, ignored everything but the motionless wolf. She rushed to his side and crouched again as she placed her hands on his motionless flank. Tears welling up in her eyes, she lifted her face to the sky, a mournful howl erupting from her throat picked up and echoed by the wolves.

Chills ran down Numair's spine to hear the human voice entwining with the wolfish ones in a funeral dirge that vibrated a chord within his own chest. He only just bit back the accompaniment.

Copper magic flashed from behind Numair's closed eyes.

The song ended abruptly; silence reigned.

Confused whines stirred, then became joyful yips.

Numair opened his eyes. He blinked once, twice, touched his Gift to ensure the scene was no illusion.

The dead wolf, the one he had blasted a mere minute ago, scorching fur and laying muscle open to the air, walked stiffly as if testing out unsteady legs. His skin was whole, his fur replenished.

_What?_

Numair gasped when his eyes finally fell upon the girl as she laid curled up on the ground. The once-dead wolf nudged her with his muzzle, puzzled at her lack of response. The mage could contain neither his amazement nor his unease.

_The girl had brought the wolf back to life._

How much power did she actually possess? Was she dead, did she trade her life for the wolf's?

Numair hoped not. That would be a severe waste of talent.

The mare edged her way to the girl and bit her lightly on the shoulder. When she didn't move, the pony arched her neck and rolled a large eye at the tall man as if to say, "_Well, what are you going to do now?"_

"As you command," he muttered at the pony as the wolves hovered around him uncertainly. After his display of power, they were obviously cautious and unwilling to approach. Surprisingly, they were not brutish beasts; they possessed some reasoning ability, but was that the norm for wolves, or had the girl and her wild mage somehow altered them? There were legends in obscure books that implied just that…

The large recently-dead wolf seemed to make a decision. He carefully sunk his teeth into the remnants of the girl's tunic and began to drag her away.

Numair was jolted by the action; it seemed the wolves had accepted the wild mage into their pack. Still, he couldn't let them take her. The mage threw up a hand.

The air grew heavy; all movement in the clearing ceased. Spot froze half-way through his buck, front legs lifted off the ground, the pack of wolves stiffened and stopped pacing, and the lead wolf halted his careful reverse as his snarl died in his throat. Only their eyes remained alive, and those belonging to the wolf glared at Numair and promised swift death.

Numair ignored the wolf as he quickly strode to the girl to pick her up, yet took the opportunity as he pried the clothing from the deadly fangs to observe the animal from close-up. Fascinated, Numair extended a hand and felt the dense coarse layers of fur, observed the shifting colors in the coat that camouflaged it so well against the brown of the underbrush, and gingerly touched the unbroken fang. He hissed in surprise and stuck his forefinger in his mouth to quell the rising blood. The tooth was much sharper than it looked, easily as sharp as a blade, and Numair wondered how much force those powerful jaws could exert.

The warning pangs from his waning Gift stirred the mage from his academic introspections. The powerful spell was a drain on his already-taxed resources, and he sighed at the lost opportunity.

"You cannot have her, Master wolf," Numair informed the animal, good temper restored now that his goal was in sight. He lifted the girl – she was lighter than expected – into his arms. "She belongs with her own people." He glanced at the pony and selectively lowered the spell on it. "You may stay with your friends or you may follow, Mistress mare."

He heard the expected hoofbeats behind him as he carried his burden to Spots, now unfrozen as well. The poor gelding trembled but remained in place as Numair unsecured the rope tied to the tree and mounted ungracefully.

"Alright, Spots, we can go now," he patted the horse's neck awkwardly, his arms full. As Spots bolted away, Numair lurched dangerously in the saddle. With a thought, he sighed in relief, both at the fact that he hadn't dropped the girl – at least Onua wasn't around to laugh at his lack of riding ability, again - and at the release of the spell.

Behind them rose a mournful howl, a lament for a lost friend.

Numair shivered. "I'm sorry," he sighed as he directed Spots towards a clearing to the south, the attentive mare following closely. "You're something special, girl, to have such fierce guardians. No," he corrected himself, "not a girl. You're a little wild mage, a magelet."


End file.
